


Life in the Fast Lane

by pulltab (Dekka)



Category: Dolan Twins - Fandom, The Dolan Twins
Genre: Gen, blood tw, motorcycle accident
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-02 06:32:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15790938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dekka/pseuds/pulltab
Summary: “It feels like hours suspended over seconds until the air is punched from his lungs as flesh meets road."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so obviously this fandom isn't very whump-centered, but this happened and I thought why not post it. Please don't read this if you're triggered by car accidents, blood, or angsty writing. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is 100% made up

Car accidents happen everyday, so why Ethan thought it would never happen to him is beyond him. He knows the bike Grayson got him is dangerous. He didn’t sit through lecture after lecture from his parents for nothing. 

Just- everyone always says it happens so fast; but you never fully understand what that means until you’re weightless and the ground is rushing past you after you register the crunch of metal on metal. 

He keeps waiting for the pain to come, for the impact of the ground to take his breath away, but somehow that takes its time. It feels like hours suspended over seconds until the air is punched from his lungs as flesh meets road. 

It’s a quiet day, a peaceful day. The sky is clear and the earth around him is silent in wait. 

He doesn’t feel the ache in his shoulder or the blood pooling and soaking into his jeans. 

Above him the sky goes dark with the outline of figures. 

He doesn’t register the hand pressing to his neck either, even as it skirts uncertainly over his chest where he can feel the heavy cadence of a panicked heart. 

It feels like the woman above him appears from thin air, gone one second and there the next, close to his face and mouthing words he tries to hear over the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, but it’s impossible. 

“I cant-” it hurts to breathe. “I cant-“ he tries to tell her, but she just shushes him, pressing him back to the pavement. 

Her voice and others around him come flooding at him like the first crash of a tsunami. 

“Can you tell me your name?” She asks. Her voice is calm in the eye of the storm, even as the male voice echoing hers is frantic. Ethan can just make out the other man’s face from over her shoulder. He’s clutching a phone, babbling information that Ethan is too dizzy to follow. 

“Just pay attention to me. You’re okay sweetie, you’re going to be okay.” 

Her voice feels far away again, even as he starts to register her grip on his hand. At the comfort his eyes flutter closed, basking in the feel of something so grounding in the midst of chaos. There’s gravel in his hair. 

“Open your eyes for me, common,” she commands.

He doesn’t want to. He wants to drift back to sleep and erase this nightmare. 

“Tell them he’s in shock. His breathing is too shallow, too, but pulse is leveling out.” Her voice sounds steady, practiced, at ease. He bets she’s a nurse. 

She reminds him of his mom in that moment; kind face, warm hands, and loving eyes. 

He doesn’t realize he’s blankly blinking up at her until she’s talking to him again, asking his name. 

“Ethan,” he tells her. She smiles at him like he’s done so much more than choke out one responsive word. 

“Is there someone you’d like me call for you, Ethan?” She asks. 

Seeing his phone in her hand makes his stomach twist because he knows that then this’ll become real. 

He selfishly wishes that Grayson was with him right now, even though he knows that his brother would be sick at the sight of him splayed unmoving on the pavement. 

“My brother, Grayson,” he tells her, despite himself. He tries to regain some dignity by pushing himself up to his elbows, but he falters halfway up, his hand grabbing uselessly at his ribs as it feels like they stab into his stomach. 

“No, no, no,” she soothes, hands on his shoulders holding him down. “You might’ve broken a couple ribs, just hold still, try to breathe through it with me.” He really tries to match her breaths, but it’s too slow, too fast, too deep, _too much_. 

“Please,” he begs her, but he doesn’t know what for. 

“The ambulance will be here soon,” she promises. 

He can hear the sirens behind the hush of her voice. It’s not a comfort, but he still finds the sound lulling him into sleep, the crash of shock leaving him too exhausted to focus on the world much longer. He can only hope that Grayson won’t be too mad at him. 

***

Grayson knows the second he gets the call that something is wrong because Ethan always facetimes him. 

The women’s voice on the other end of the line just proves him right. 

Still- he isn’t expecting it as she gently asks him if he’s with anyone right now. 

“No, why?” He answers, unsure. His mind is trying to fill in the blanks, going crazy with scenario after scenario of why a random women would be calling him from Ethan’s phone. 

“I suggest after we talk that you get a friend or an uber,” she starts. He’s just about ready to interrupt her and demand answers when her voice somehow goes even softer. He knows he’s not going to like what she’s about to say. 

“Grayson, your brother is okay, but he was in a motorcycle accident-”

He doesn’t hear what she says after that. Under him, his legs go unsteady, forcing him to drop heavily to the couch at his heels. 

“He’s okay?” Grayson manages to choke out, blatantly interrupting her rush of words that he hasn’t fully been comprehending as his mind plays catch-up. 

“Yes,” she promises, "he's okay. “They just got him loaded up, they’re taking him to the hospital.” 

The next minutes feel like a small eternity.


	2. Chapter 2

Ethan fights to stay awake longer than he probably should. At this point, it would just be too easy to give into the pounding in his skull or the ache in his ribs; he didn’t fight to stay conscious all this time for nothing. Instead, he trains his eyes on new faces surrounding him, trying to stay cognizant. 

Between the paramedic’s cold hands and calculated moves, Ethan misses the warmth of the woman who was with him before. He doesn’t even know her name, and he isn’t given time to think on it as hands press gently on his chest, a worried, wrinkled face hovering over him. “Relax, try not to take deep breaths,” he’s told, “you ribs aren’t giving your lungs much room right now.” 

He doesn't know what that means, and his head’s too scrambled to draw it out. 

“My name is Mike, Ethan. We’re going to get you to the hospital as smoothly as possible, alright?” 

The paramedic is old, but not familiar in the way the woman was, or nearly as comforting. He’s fast and precise with his movements, but mostly silent, as if Ethan isn’t really there at all, as if it isn’t his body getting manhandled and strapped up and forced to endure seemingly endless pain. 

The oxygen mask the man presses to his face does nothing to settle him, instead only silencing him as he tries to find the words to ask which hospital they’re taking him to. He has to know so that he can tell Grayson; so that Grayson can find him. 

“Calm down,” the man soothes, in a tone that suggests nothing but compliance. He isn’t as gentle this time as he keeps Ethan pressed down and the oxygen mask covering his face. “Breathe,” he says, like it’s easy; like there isn’t bone pressing into precious organs. 

Ethan feels small- _vulnerable, hurt, helpless, and a million other things_ \- as his eyes dizzily map the rattling ceiling of the ambulance. He wants to be somewhere, anywhere, else. 

“Follow my breathing,” Mike prompts again. 

Ethan tries to breathe with the man’s coaching, but somewhere along the way his head starts catching up with what’s happening. It’s a bad feeling; a feeling of powerlessness. 

There’s no going back, no stopping himself from turning down that last road, no deciding to stay home. 

“Ethan-”

Grayson is going to kill him. 

“Try to breathe-” 

The bike is wrecked. _He’s_ wrecked. 

One look down at himself makes his head spin. There’s blood on his hands, on the white sheets, on the paramedic’s gloves. He can see his own hand, mangled around the wrist from glass and road rash, but he doesn't feel the grip the paramedic has on his arms to keep him down. 

In fact, he doesn't feel anything; not the heart rate monitor strapped tight to his pointer finger, or needle lodged in the crook of his arm, or the pain that must come from struggling under the weight of a full grown man after your body’s been tossed across pavement like a stone skipping on water. 

This isn’t right. 

From somewhere far, far away, he remembers his ribs catching on fire and the feel of blood-matted hair, but even those memories feel distant and dream-like; a feeling he’s generally accustomed to. Between him and Grayson they’ve had enough concussions to scare away a football team’s starting lineup, but this somehow feels different. Even wearing a helmet did nothing to stop the first slam of his head against pavement. 

“We’ll be there soon. Hold tight, kid. Common, stay with me-” 

Ethan remembers the feel of gravel in his hair, and the way the woman who first came to him pressed something to his head. He remembers pushing off his own helmet, then, of trying to sit up, of trying to breathe as his lungs pressed in on themselves. 

It’s the phantom feeling of pain that takes him over the edge. Dizzy eyes are all too grateful to stop their mapping of the frantic scene in the ambulance. They slip closed with a peacefulness he knows isn’t natural and a coinciding rush of heat flowing through his veins. 

Melting into the rough, scratchy sheets that surround him is easy, but the scary part is, he fights it. He begs his eyes to stay open. He begs to hear something, anything, that’s not the ringing you hear as your blood tries to rush back to your brain, even if it’s the rough, commanding tone of the male paramedic. 

That pleading turns quickly to prayer, to bargaining with God, hoping to feel something besides the physical pressure of the darkness flooding and drowning him. Above all, he asks for mercy in the form of his brother. He’d do anything to have Grayson be there when he wakes up, because then at least he would know that everything would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Grayson finally getting to see Ethan 
> 
> As always, comments feed the writer :)


	3. Chapter 3

Grayson has never felt as helpless as he does now, while pacing the curb as he waits for the Uber he barely managed to call between the shaking of his hands and the somersaults his stomach’s been doing since he heard the news. 

He cant help but let the anger well up him, his patience quickly wearing thin. Somehow, he feels he like he should’ve known this would happen. A good brother doesn't just get their twin a death-trap of a bike and let him run off. Their parents warned him and he ignored it. He should’ve known. He should’ve prevented this. 

Thinking about it now does nothing though, like standing on the curb as his brother lies in a hospital room alone does nothing. 

Mentally and physically exhausted, Grayson’s eyes search the clear-blue sky for some form of clarity. He finds nothing in the pattern of clouds or the flock of birds peacefully flying through, completely unaware of his poorly-hidden panic.

When his eyes fall from the sky to the ground, his hands rub furiously over his face, trying to somehow wipe away his anxiety. 

He cant handle this right now. 

He doesn't want to. 

If Ethan didn’t need him he’d find the nearest room with a lock and collapses inside of it until everything righted itself. 

But Ethan does need him, probably just as much as Grayson needs to see with his own eyes that his twin brother is okay. He doesn't know what he would’ve done if the call he received was more grim, but those thoughts make his head rush and stomach fall, and leave him staring blankly at a barren road. 

He’s never felt so out of his skin, and sitting still for another second sounds just as bad as waiting for an eternity for all he cares. 

Fitfully, his eyes fall on his Porche, then back to the empty road in front of him, then back to the Porche. 

Option one gets him zero to sixty in two and a half seconds. Option two leaves him standing on the curb waiting like an idiot for a driver that’s not going to understand his urgency. 

In the end, it’s not really much of a choice. He grabs the nearest set of keys and goes, trying to ignore the way he promised the women on the phone that he wouldn't drive while left reeling over the news of his brother’s crash. 

It only takes him a couple blocks, two missed stop signs and an ignored red light, for him to realize that maybe he should’ve listened to her. Even still, he doesn't slow down. It feels too good to be in control of something and to be doing something productive, even if it’s just bringing him one step closer to being at his brother’s side. 

Just imagining Ethan confused, hurt, and alone in a hospital bed makes his stomach turn and foot fall like lead on the pedal. 

The women on the phone- Beth, he thinks- promised she’d meet him just past the emergency room doors, and he doesn't plan on making her wait. At the time, while he was on the phone with her, everything she said felt like it was rushing in one ear and out the other because of the way he’d been panicking. But now, things jump back with a certain clarity. 

She was a nurse, who happened to be on her way to work at the very hospital that was nearest, where they were taking Ethan. 

It’s some sick type of irony, Grayson thinks, that made Ethan unlucky enough to crash his bike, but also lucky enough to be within miles of a great hospital and feet away from one of that hospital’s E.R. nurses. 

It she wasn’t there, Grayson knows he wouldn't have been called for hours. The thought alone makes his hand clench tighter around the steering wheel. 

Between his palpitating heart and sickening thoughts, he somehow gets to the hospital without killing himself. 

It’s thankfully not hard to find Beth. She’s the first face to greet him through the E.R. doors, her name tag and searching eyes tipping him off. 

“Beth?” He asks anyway, as he approaches. She gives him a grim, sympathetic smile and a nod before she’s turning and leading him through sets of doors, waiting rooms, and hallways. She’s all business, not sparing a second, and he appreciates it more than he can say. 

“Ethan was brought in around ten minutes ago,” she tells him as they walk. Despite her age, he’s having trouble keeping up with her, but he’s not going to complain. 

“Is he awake?” He asks. 

She glances to him before stopping outside a room. He can’t get a read on her and it scares him. 

“He’s on a morphine drip,” she explains carefully. “He’s awake, but he’ll be out of it. He’s been asking for you.” 

It feels like the world and her words melt away as she opens the hospital room door. 

“I’ll give you two a minute,” she says, but he never hears her. Ethan’s name is torn from his throat in breath that feels like a punch. 

“You idiot, you fucking idiot,” Grayson’s saying, but his watering eyes and gentle hands betray his unexpected anger as he finally gets to his brother’s side. 

There’s no denying that the accident was bad- Ethan’s stitched forehead and bruised body is proof enough- but Grayson still feels relieved, like he can finally take a full breath for the first time since he heard the news because, despite everything, Ethan’s alive. He’s breathing. He’s smiling and crying, and he’s _okay_. 

Grayson doesn’t know where he can touch, where he can hold, just to really be sure of the pulse under his brother’s pale, bloody skin, but Ethan doesn’t care, grabbing Grayson’s hand hard even as he winces. 

“I’m sorry Gray,” he croaks. His voice is shredded, his eyes unfocused, and somehow still, Grayson feels immediately better.

“Don't ever do that to me again,” he commands, and Ethan nods along dumbly, like he has any choice, like he can somehow vow to never leave his brother’s side. 

For the first time in hours that felt like centuries, Grayson smiles. 

“Tell me something,” Ethan asks. The drugs are doing their job, and now that Grayson is there, Ethan’s content with ending the battle with his heavy eyelids. 

He picks the first topic he can think of and starts talking, all while his eyes sweep his brother from head to toe, cataloging each inch of marred skin. In-between bruises, cuts, and imbedded glass, he thanks God under his breath. 

This could’ve been worse and, as scary as that is, it’s simultaneously comforting. 

But Grayson doesn’t get much longer to bathe in the relief. Beth comes back with a doctor and another nurse in tow, and Grayson’s forced to tear his eyes away from where he’s been watching his brother’s chest shallowly rise and fall with each living breath. 

They have to take him for x-rays, they tell him. Ethan’s ribs are probably broken. 

It’s not until after they say something that he even notices the thickness under the hospital gown, hinting at a wrapped torso. 

“Can I go with?” He asks. His hand squeezes harder around Ethan’s, almost begging his brother to open his eyes one last time before they force him to let go. 

“I’m sorry,” Beth begins, but Grayson waves off her apology. 

“I should call our family.” Even just saying it brings back the uneasy feeling that haunted him earlier. He knows their parents deal with a lot, with them. 

“Why don’t you find your way back here in about an hour,” the doctor suggests. Grayson doesn’t have much of a choice but to move as the other nurse starts gathering up the IV pole and Beth unlocks the wheels of the hospital bed. 

All the while, Ethan is oblivious, his hand relaxed in Grayson’s hold. 

“And the glass?” Grayson has to ask. “It’s everywhere and it’s making him bleed.” 

“Before the x-rays we’ll clean him up,” Beth reassures him. “When he came in they just had to focus on making sure his head, neck, and ribs were okay. He’s stable and in good hands, I promise.” 

Her words do little to staunch the worry gnawing at his stomach, but he doesn’t have a choice. 

“Okay,” he relents, letting go of Ethan’s hand. 

He cant watch as they wheel him away, his eyes instead trained on the blood now coating his hand from Ethan’s scraped palms. 

Even when he wipes at it, it doesn’t go away, and somehow that’s fitting, like the metaphorical blood on his hands has finally leaked through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments feed the writer :) let me know what you guys would like to see happen next!


End file.
